Teacher goes back to the future
He was as handsome as ever. The soft round face of the little boy was gone, but I recognized that striking jaw line and the naughty twinkle in his eyes.
“Of course, Mrs. Flores,” he answered in a deep voice as we hugged. I had asked him whether he still remembered me. Very few boys remember their kindergarten teacher.
Donovan (not his real name) was one of my most interesting students. He was a wiggler, constantly moving and not paying attention. He showed intelligence but struggled with reading. He threw himself completely into whatever he was doing. One time I found him all by himself surrounded by markers. One eye had black circles and the left arm was also black. When I asked him what he thought he was doing, he stuck out his tongue. It was green.
While I scrubbed his face and arms I threatened him with all sorts of bodily harm and warned him of a future so dark and dreary if he every did this again.
I should have known better. I was less focused on Donovan’s unique qualities and more on my need for order and to appear orderly. Through the years I had thought of Donovan, and regretted the times I put him on time out chair.
Students like Donovan are kinesthetic/tactile learners. This means they learn best by touching and feeling objects. Teachers often label kinesthetic/tactile learners as “overactive.” Kinesthetic/tactile learners are the ones who like to take things apart and build them again. They are slappers and bumpers, easily distracted by what they see (because they want to go over and touch them), quick to act and move (so they get into fights more easily).
They love to peel the labels from their crayons, eat their glue and cut their own bangs. And then they peel their classmates’ crayons, eat their classmates’ glue and cut their classmates’ bangs.
Most teachers prefer to teach in the same way they learn. I am, like most teachers, a visual learner. To reach kinesthetic/tactile learners, I have to make an extra effort to go beyond my comfort zone. It means bringing in objects to manipulate, coming up with movement and skits, lecturing in short spurts, giving the class time to create or build or tear down something.
What could I have done differently with students like Donovan? I could have let students like him cartwheel from the classroom to the cafeteria, as long as they still followed our line. I could not have been terribly offended if they smashed a caterpillar as they tried to figure out what made it crawl. At naptime I could have given them a corner in the room where they could stand on their heads to find out how long it will take for all the blood to rush down. I could have asked Donovan to compare the taste of colors black and green. And would he like to try orange next?
Here he was now, and I had so much to tell him. Not the ideal time or place, I thought as I stared at his beautiful face.
“You know, Donovan, I always had a hard time with you in my classroom. But even then I always thought you were an intelligent boy. You have so much to give. You were always curious about your world. You wanted to experience what you learned. That’s why you were trying to feel and taste those markers. I don’t know where you are now, or what happened since I last saw you. But I want to tell you that God made you a certain way. I want you to not be afraid to live the life that God intended for you. Go ahead and try new things. Don’t mind too much what others might think or say. Do not be afraid. Do something great and unusual. Would you promise me this, Donovan, that you will live your life as an adventure?”
Donovan seemed deep in thought, absorbing every word. His kindergarten teacher was giving him permission to live life full throttle.
“Yes, Mrs. Flores, I promise,” he finally said with a smile.
Psalm 139:14 says we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Each student is like a stained glass window and a teacher’s responsibility is to help put a spotlight on its unique intricate design. I was thankful for the chance to go back and wipe smudges I had put Donovan’s image of himself as a person of incredible worth with a plan and purpose divinely embedded in his kinesthetic/tactile soul.
By God’s grace, someday Donovan will do something great and wonderful, invent a humongous intelligent machine, or create a grand masterpiece of art. And this teacher will say to herself, ah, yes, that’s my Donovan. I always knew he had it in him.
“Of course, Mrs. Flores,” he answered in a deep voice as we hugged. I had asked him whether he still remembered me. Very few boys remember their kindergarten teacher.
Donovan (not his real name) was one of my most interesting students. He was a wiggler, constantly moving and not paying attention. He showed intelligence but struggled with reading. He threw himself completely into whatever he was doing. One time I found him all by himself surrounded by markers. One eye had black circles and the left arm was also black. When I asked him what he thought he was doing, he stuck out his tongue. It was green.
While I scrubbed his face and arms I threatened him with all sorts of bodily harm and warned him of a future so dark and dreary if he every did this again.
I should have known better. I was less focused on Donovan’s unique qualities and more on my need for order and to appear orderly. Through the years I had thought of Donovan, and regretted the times I put him on time out chair.
Students like Donovan are kinesthetic/tactile learners. This means they learn best by touching and feeling objects. Teachers often label kinesthetic/tactile learners as “overactive.” Kinesthetic/tactile learners are the ones who like to take things apart and build them again. They are slappers and bumpers, easily distracted by what they see (because they want to go over and touch them), quick to act and move (so they get into fights more easily).
They love to peel the labels from their crayons, eat their glue and cut their own bangs. And then they peel their classmates’ crayons, eat their classmates’ glue and cut their classmates’ bangs.
Most teachers prefer to teach in the same way they learn. I am, like most teachers, a visual learner. To reach kinesthetic/tactile learners, I have to make an extra effort to go beyond my comfort zone. It means bringing in objects to manipulate, coming up with movement and skits, lecturing in short spurts, giving the class time to create or build or tear down something.
What could I have done differently with students like Donovan? I could have let students like him cartwheel from the classroom to the cafeteria, as long as they still followed our line. I could not have been terribly offended if they smashed a caterpillar as they tried to figure out what made it crawl. At naptime I could have given them a corner in the room where they could stand on their heads to find out how long it will take for all the blood to rush down. I could have asked Donovan to compare the taste of colors black and green. And would he like to try orange next?
Here he was now, and I had so much to tell him. Not the ideal time or place, I thought as I stared at his beautiful face.
“You know, Donovan, I always had a hard time with you in my classroom. But even then I always thought you were an intelligent boy. You have so much to give. You were always curious about your world. You wanted to experience what you learned. That’s why you were trying to feel and taste those markers. I don’t know where you are now, or what happened since I last saw you. But I want to tell you that God made you a certain way. I want you to not be afraid to live the life that God intended for you. Go ahead and try new things. Don’t mind too much what others might think or say. Do not be afraid. Do something great and unusual. Would you promise me this, Donovan, that you will live your life as an adventure?”
Donovan seemed deep in thought, absorbing every word. His kindergarten teacher was giving him permission to live life full throttle.
“Yes, Mrs. Flores, I promise,” he finally said with a smile.
Psalm 139:14 says we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Each student is like a stained glass window and a teacher’s responsibility is to help put a spotlight on its unique intricate design. I was thankful for the chance to go back and wipe smudges I had put Donovan’s image of himself as a person of incredible worth with a plan and purpose divinely embedded in his kinesthetic/tactile soul.
By God’s grace, someday Donovan will do something great and wonderful, invent a humongous intelligent machine, or create a grand masterpiece of art. And this teacher will say to herself, ah, yes, that’s my Donovan. I always knew he had it in him.
